That May weekend of the full moon was a turning point in my growing up, and not just for the events of Emma and I on that frosty Friday night. The Saturday afternoon saw me do the one thing many Australian teens do not long after turning eighteen: buying their first car. It might have only been a small three-door hatchback with a few too many kilometres on the clock for its age but it was in good condition and, as I probably would only really drive it on the weekend to begin with, perfectly adequate. More importantly, it meant that I could travel with Emma without having to juggle with public transport timetables or worry about whether she could handle the bicycle ride.

Our moments together over the rest of that autumn were relatively brief: work commitments for Emma’s father meant that swapping households for her and her sister occurred every weekend, and while Emma was now old enough not to be bound by a custody order she agreed to still move with her sister for the time being. Also, things had settled down somewhat between Emma and her mother’s partner: maybe it was the realisation that, with Emma now old enough to do as she wished, there was little power in being abusive to someone who now had somewhere safe to go and had the right to do so. Our times together would be not much more than a few minutes of kissing and cuddling, enough to sustain our love and affection for each other but barely. Also, with assignments and preparations for end-of-semester assessments and exams in full swing, we barely even had time to talk on the phone or chat online. Instead, much of our correspondence was in the form of photos of ourselves sent to each other: nothing at all racy, just self-portraits taken on our phones featuring a variety of facial expressions. I tended to make all sorts of weird and wonderful faces in my shots; Emma preferred to keep hers rather conventional. My favourite would be of her giving a small, closed-mouth smile: one-part happiness without excessive exuberance, one-part knowing look, possibly even a flirt. Something about that look did something to me: I would keep that image on my phone, but only look at it surreptitiously like it was a dirty magazine.

May ran headlong into June and soon the Queen’s Birthday long weekend arrived. For most of Australia, it meant a welcome three-day break, for students like Emma and I, it meant that mid-year assignments were all but complete with only assessments and exams remained until the winter school holidays and, in the south-east of the country, it was the opening of the skiing season. My parents had been invited to stay at a chalet with work colleagues of my father up at Mount Buller, and they departed straight after work on Friday night. With time on my hands once I finished my after-school job, I decided to give Emma a call.

“Hello?”

“Good evening my dearest, sweetest Emma.”

“The words. Cop the words. Fran, you dag…”

“Still up for this weekend?”

“OK, but we swapping over, remember?” Emma and her sister Amber were still swapping parents on a weekly basis until the end of the month.

“Do you want me to pick both of you up and bring you over? We can then go from there. Remember I now have wheels…”

“You now have motorised wheels.” She had been giving me slight digs about my acquisition of a car, as though I had sold out on riding a bike everywhere. “How early?”

“Make it nine so we can make the markets.”

----

At nine o’clock the next morning, two teenage girls piled their bags and themselves into my car. Emma, dressed in a knee-length green-and-blue tartan dress with white collar, grey short overcoat, black tights and Doc Marten boots, rode shotgun while her sixteen-year-old sister Amber, wearing track pants and hoodie, possibly as part of her pyjamas, sat in the back seat with a sour look on her face.

“You OK? Early start? Lack of caffeine? Lack of room?” I asked in the rear-view mirror.

“Too bloody early," grumbled a messy-haired Amber from the back.

“Don’t poke the bear, Fran," Emma warned.

We drove along the undulating roads of Melbourne’s eastern suburbs, tracking towards the Yarra River and over into home territory. The three of us travelled in silence, the tunes from my phone running through the car stereo providing soundtrack to the journey; a song by The Whitlams came on, Tim Freedman singing about the nocturnal activities of his neighbour.

“So,” piped up Amber, “have you two done it?”

“No or no comment," I shot back. “What response do you prefer?”

“Hey!” Emma protested.

“It’s a bit personal,” I responded to the mirror, “if you don’t mind…”

“We have.” Emma cut in. “Last month.”

“And?” Amber was seeking an elaboration.

“What do you want?” I was getting annoyed. “Running commentary by Bruce McAvaney? Analysis from Cameron Ling? Brian Taylor cracking inappropriate jokes?”

“Well, there was that one about Schrödinger’s…”

“Nooo," I howled Emma down. “OK. It just happened. One thing led to another. One thing. Another. Happy?”

“Your man’s a bit defensive, isn’t he, sis?”

“I’m working on him.”

We fell silent again, not talking again until we reached their mother’s place.

----

With Amber successfully disposed of at her mother’s we travelled onwards, soon leaving suburbia and entering the rolling countryside lying beyond. I quickly glanced at Emma in between stretches of watching the road ahead.

“I like what you’ve done with your hair," I said. Emma’s hair had been trimmed back, now clear off her shoulders and ending halfway down her neck.

“Thanks. I wondered if you had bothered to notice," she replied with a slight tone of annoyance.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to say it before and give Amber another excuse to tease.”

“Don’t worry about her,” she reassured me, “she likes to get a rise out of you.”

We soon arrived in a village in amongst a eucalypt-filled valley. The mist and light drizzle softened the scene rather than ruined it: for me, this place didn’t seem right at this time of year unless it felt like one was walking through a cloud. This was my plan for a Saturday together with Emma: visit the markets, have lunch at the pub, then return back to my place to chill.

As we walked the muddy aisles of the market, amongst stalls selling scented candles, local produce and whatever junk the locals were clearing out of their sheds, we were spotted by two girls from my school. Cerys was in my school’s concert band with me, and I knew that she and her family lived a bit further up the valley. Rachel was the leader of the band, and I figured that she must have been staying at Cerys’s to practice ahead of assessments.

“Well, if it isn’t Francis…” said Cerys.

“Ooh, looky here," Rachel chipped in.

“Hi girls. Fancy seeing you here," trying hard to make it sound like it was completely unexpected – which it was, sort of. “Er, this is Emma. Em, this is Cerys and Rachel”.

“We’ve heard a bit about you”, said Rachel. “Francis wasn’t bullshitting us after all.”

“Oh, thanks. Thanks for that," I responded sarcastically. “I won’t let you forget you said that.”

After talking to the girls for a bit we soon continued on our way and finished browsing the markets. We crossed the road and entered the pub, passing the bikies standing at the bar in their leathers and sat down in the dining area at the rear. Unfortunately, my driving meant I had to restrain myself to drinking lemon, lime and bitters; Emma also drank the same, probably in sympathy.

As we ate our meals, Emma spoke up. “Those girls from your school, Fran. You sounded a bit awkward. Was there a problem? Was I cramping your style?”

“No," I said with my mouth half full. After I swallowed I continued: “Far from it. It’s just that, well, previously, at different times, I’ve had feelings for both of them.”

“Oh.”

“You know that feeling when you see someone you have a crush on out in the street. Now double that and throw in the fact you are with someone you love and who loves you. That right there.”

“More what-ifs than you could bear?”

“Right.”

“Don’t worry, I understand. It’s OK, it’s not a problem," Emma reassured me.

We finished our meals and drinks and headed back to the car. As we drove along roads that a few years before nursed a Tour de France winner in his formative years, I again glanced at Emma sitting beside me.

“You know,” I said, “other than when you have been in your school clothes I don’t think I’ve seen you wear a dress or skirt before today.”

“Haven’t I?” Emma looked puzzled. She recounted each time we caught up since we met. “You’re right.”

“I know, not the sort of thing you’d expect me to notice. Or care about.”

“Do you like me in a skirt?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean… oh bollocks. You look good in a skirt. You look good in pants. I’m pretty sure you’d look good in a hessian sack and you certainly look good in nothing at all. It was just an observation.”

“It’s OK. Pants or shorts are more practical, especially on a bike. And I have to wear a skirt or dress at school anyway.”

“Don’t feel like you need to change”, I attempted to reassure Emma.

There was an awkward pause of a couple of minutes before Emma broke it. “I admit, since we’ve been together I have wanted to be a bit more, you know, girly. Wear dresses, wear a bit more make-up and not be so tomboyish. Practicality has often stopped me, but if you like it…”

“No,” I interrupted, “don’t. Wear what you like, what you feel. I love you anyway.” I reached my left hand over and patted Emma’s skirted thigh in an act of reassurance.

She placed her hand over mine and said “I love you too," before pushing our hands towards the hem of her skirt. Just as my fingers touched her tight-clad knee I pulled my hand back and placed it on the steering wheel.

“Sorry. I need both hands for these roads.”

----

We pulled into my driveway, grabbed Emma’s bags out of the car and went straight to my room. After dropping her bags I went back out into the lounge and lit the fireplace. As I stood up after getting the fire blazing nicely Emma came up from behind and wrapped her arms around me, resting her head on my shoulder.

“Thank you for today, Francis. It was lovely," she said softly.

“It’s nothing," I replied. “I mean, we have the place free this weekend – we could have got up to anything.”

“Well…” Emma said half-suggestively. “For starters, how about a drink now you’ve finished driving?”

I went to the kitchen and pulled out two wine glasses. On the counter was an already-opened bottle of red wine; I filled the glasses then returned with them to the lounge. I handed one glass to Emma and we both sat on the couch.

As we sipped our glasses of wine we chatted about how our assignments went. I rested my hand on Emma’s thigh, repeating what occurred earlier in the car. Once again she put her hand on mine and pushed the two of them towards her knee; this time I had no need to withdraw. She then guided my hand back up her thigh, pushing up the skirt of her dress. I soon felt the smooth fabric of her tights end, replaced first by lace followed by the bare skin of her upper thigh: Emma was wearing stay-up tights.

“Ooh,” I remarked, “what’s this?”

“I bought them last weekend”, she answered. “Do you like them?”

“I wasn’t expecting them. It’s not what…”

“What you’d expect me to wear?” Emma interrupted. “Not becoming of me?”

“No,” I protested, “not that. But I’m learning more and more about you.”

“I can be adventurous, given half a chance. I don’t have to be innocent, do I?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

I pulled in close and began kissing her. My hand moved along the lace tops of her tights, feeling the boundary between them and the skin of her thighs; as it dropped in between her legs I felt the distinct smoothness of satin as my fingers made contact with the crotch of her knickers. Emma spread her legs slightly and I ran my fingers up and down the front of her knickers, noting the depression in the centre that indicated what lay beneath, all the while continuing to minister to her mouth as our tongues danced around each other.

After a while I broke off and stood up, reaching out to Emma. “Come," I softly offered. She took my hand and pulled herself up off the couch, then followed me as I led her to my bedroom. When we arrived I turned around and kissed her once more, before she turned away from me.

“Do me a favour, Fran,” she said looking over her shoulder, “can you undo my zip?”

I took hold of the zip tag in the gap of her collar and pulled down gently. Emma then turned around, crossed her arms and pulled the dress over her head, revealing her bra and knickers: pink satin with tiny black dots, pale pink lace on the band and the tops of the cups. I then took off my jumper and t-shirt, kicked off my shoes, unbuckled my belt and dropped my jeans, while she untied and loosened the laces on her boots before pulling them off, leaving her tights on.

I pulled myself up to her and kissed her once more before leading her onto the bed. This time our making out was far more passionate, far more vigorous, the tender kisses of sessions past replaced with what could be described as mutual devouring. After a while, Emma began trailing her kisses down my neck and across my chest, repeating the way I seduced her the last time we lay together albeit with a little less time attending to my nipples. Soon she crossed my belly and reached the waistband of my briefs; without a word, she pulled the front of my briefs down and my cock sprang into her face. She moved to the base of my shaft and kissed her way upwards, flicking her tongue each time. Once she reached my knob she first gave it a quick flick of her tongue, followed by a longer lick around my knob before wrapping her lips around and taking my cock into her mouth, continuing to work her tongue around.

I rolled over onto my back and Emma followed between my legs, now slowly moving her head up and down on my cock. I placed my hands at the back of her head and stroked her hair as she continued to blow me, working up from the roots at the top of her neck. I soon felt that familiar sensation, first at the bottom of each bob of her head, then becoming increasingly persistent as I edged towards climax. I gently took hold of Emma’s head and moved her slightly quicker on my cock. My grunts and moans increased before I warned her: “I think I’m about to come.” She then quickened her own pace, now clearly having progressed from mere cock-sucking to mouth-fucking, sending me to the point where I knew coming was inevitable: it was now only a matter of how long I could hold out.

The answer came within seconds: the power no longer resistible, I released myself in Emma’s mouth with a series of spurts. Out of reflex, she swallowed each rope down until I had no more, at which point she licked my cock clean and released it from her mouth. I encouraged her to move up alongside me where I kissed her, the salty and slightly bitter taste of my come still in her mouth.

We kept kissing until I became hard again, at which point Emma broke away from me and got on all fours on the bed. Wagging her satin-clad arse she gently advised me, “I want to try it from behind.” I pulled off my briefs and moved between her trailing legs, pulled her knickers down her legs until they were clear off her arse and resting on her tights, and placed my cock on her waiting pussy. As my knob slid into her, I grabbed her hips and gave an almighty thrust, jolting her forward and eliciting a yell from her. I settled down into a gentler rhythm, gently fucking her with most of the length of my cock as Emma responded with a steady stream of moans, before leaning forward and placing my hands on the cups of her bra, feeling out for her nipples in amongst the satin and lace that enclosed her tits.

After a while Emma pushed her front up off the bed, causing me to fall out of her. She pulled her knickers the rest of the way off before turning around to me. I kissed her while I moved my hands around her back to her bra strap. Recalling the advice I had once heard on a nerd podcast about the best way to remove a bra I used my left hand to deftly release the catch, moving to push the straps off her shoulders once I felt the tension release. No sooner as I started to knead her breasts Emma asked me to lay on my back; as soon as I did she straddled me, towering over me as she took a hold of my cock and aligned it to her pussy as she lowered herself down. Her descent halted when her arse came to rest on my thighs she began to move her self up and down, repeatedly impaling herself on my cock, her breasts now bobbing up and down in sympathy. I began to buck against her, moving my arse slightly upwards each time she dropped herself, causing her moans to go up a tone and a few decibels. We both gradually increased our pace, fucking harder and faster as Emma built to a climax; as she tipped over the edge and fell into an orgasmic quiver I felt a sudden urge to come hitting my cock, grunting as I came up into her pussy and continuing to buck upwards until I was done.

As Emma collapsed onto me I asked her, “Can you sit on my face?”

“And tell you that I love you?” she replied, remembering the Monty Python lyric.

“Life can be fine if we both sixty-nine," I sung. Laughing in response she climbed off my crotch, turned around and straddled my head. Lowering herself onto my face I immediately spread her labia with my hands and stuck my tongue into her pussy, eating out the creampie I had deposited moments before. Once I had cleaned up the mess I had made I moved onto licking her clit while one of my fingers replaced my tongue in her pussy, slowly working its way in and out of her. Meanwhile, at the opposite end, Emma had commenced licking my cock up and down, occasionally taking it in her mouth. With her mouth occupied her moans from my licking her were muted, further muffled by the mass of our bodies in between both theatres of action.

Having come twice already in fairly quick succession I was taking much longer than previous to become highly aroused. Emma, meanwhile, had no such impediment: soon her moans were picking up in intensity and, before too long, she abandoned her efforts in blowing me as she came once more, the lips of her pussy quivering in my face as I lapped at her clit. It was then that I realised that my grip on her nether regions had resulted in one finger resting all too close to her arsehole; as she was in the midst of her orgasm I pressed that finger into her flesh and pulled her hole open. By the time Emma had come down from her high I was gently working the rim of her arsehole – not penetrating it, merely stretching it.

“Ooh, do you want me to do that?” I heard from the far end of us.

“Oh, sorry, just got a bit carried away," I said apologetically.

“I can try taking it up the bum if you’d like.”

“Are you sure?” The fear about overstepping my bounds had returned. “Not if you don’t want to. Don’t do it just for me.”

“I want to try it," Emma reassured me as she clambered off me. “I think we know each other, we trust each other – if it doesn’t feel right we won’t go on.”

She convinced me. “OK, as you wish. But first, I will prepare myself.” I reached over to the bedside drawer, opened it and pulled out the packet of condoms and tube of lubricant that I had bought in advance of our first time. As I came to grips with putting a condom on my cock for the first time, Emma once again got on all fours. I applied lube to the tip of my sheathed member, smoothing it down for coverage; I then applied a dollop of lube onto her puckered hole, prompting a reactive jerk as the cold gel hit her skin.

“Ooh, that’s cold!” she exclaimed.

With everything in place, I moved into position. “OK, Emma. Take a deep breath and relax," I softly spoke. I placed the tip of my cock on her arsehole. “I love you, Emma, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I love you, Francis, and I won’t let you hurt me," she replied.

“Take a deep breath.” As she breathed in I slowly pushed myself into her. At first, my cock flexed as her hole resisted entry but soon the combination of force and lubrication saw the knob pop through her ring. Emma gave a groan indicating some discomfort.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s just stretching," she replied. “It’s like shitting a brick.”

I kept slowly pushing my cock up her arse, pausing each time she made a sound that displayed any pain. I rubbed the small of her back while encouraging her to breathe in and out deeply in an attempt to help relax her. I soon managed to go as far up Emma’s arse as I could, at which point I slowly pulled myself back until only my knob was still inside her. I then pushed in again, prompting another moan from her.

“You sure you’re still OK?” I asked once more.

“Yeah, it felt a bit better," came the reply.

I maintained the same pace, slowly pushing my cock up Emma’s arse then pulling it back out to the head. Each subsequent repetition provoked less discomfort in her reaction, to the point where the moans were simply hushed into heavy breathing. I could also feel her arsehole becoming looser, either due to relaxation or the stretching caused by the presence of my cock. I kept going for a while at the same speed until Emma finally spoke up.

“Francis?” she asked.

“Yes, Emma?” I responded.

“I’m starting to like this, but I’d love it more if I could see you.”

I pulled my cock out of her arse. Her hole was slow to close and still showed a small gape after a few seconds. Emma collapsed onto the bed, rolled over and drew up her legs to bring her arsehole upwards; while she did I caught a glimpse of my cock, noting that despite where I had placed it for the past while it looked relatively clean. With her in position, I moved in and placed my cock back on her hole, pushing straight in with a bit more force than I did originally; the knob slid straight through quite easily, the shaft followed soon after and Emma showed no discomfort at all. She even gave her trademark knowing smirk as I pushed into her, which triggered a deep feeling of love for her even though I was resuming fucking her up the arse.

I sped up my pace as I thrust into her anew, now confident in pushing the boundary without too much trouble – and knowing that I could see her reaction immediately if there was a problem. Meanwhile, Emma began rubbing her pussy, seeking to add a little extra stimulation to the mix. Soon her moans returned and then intensified as she built up to another orgasm. This time, though, she peaked higher and harder than previous, the simultaneous stimulation of her pussy and her arse sending her so far over the edge that she could have made the other side given the chance. Once she finally came back down to earth I felt my self ready to approach that same cliff.

“I’m gonna come soon," I announced.

As I felt the pressure build, with Emma having already come and little likelihood of building to another climax in time, I pulled my cock out of her arse, pulled off the condom and began pulling myself off over her pussy. I got a few hand pumps of my cock completed before I blew my load, covering her slit and much of her lower belly in sticky come.

I collapsed on top of Emma and proceeded to kiss her, burying my tongue through her lips to meet hers. Once we finally broke I looked deeply into her eyes, noting the loving look she was giving back to me.

“I love you, Emma," I declared.

“I love you too, Francis," she replied in kind.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, you didn’t. It was wonderful. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“Worth putting up with someone like me?” I was probably trolling more than showing my self-doubt.

“Oh Fran, you dag! I’d more than put up with you. I’d probably cross oceans to be with you.”

“Or, at least, a river.”

“True. Definitely worth two changes of bus come over.”

We kissed a bit more before I realised that it had gotten dark outside, and I began to notice the stickiness between us. “Care to join me in the shower, Em?”

“Can’t see why not, Fran. Although I think I enjoy us getting dirty.”

----

As we both stood in the shower cubicle, the warm water falling on us like the mother of all tropical downpours, we lathered each other up. It felt good to relax following the afternoon’s activities, soft kisses and the gentle massaging of each other providing a pleasant contrast of what we did before. We then stepped out and towelled ourselves off. I noticed that – after both of us had towel-dried our heads – we had almost identical hair; once we both realised it in the mirror we started giggling.

As we got back to my room to get dressed Emma began quizzing me. “Hey Fran, you know how earlier you said you’d never seen me in a dress.”

“Other than your school clothes," I answered.

“Do you think I actually look good in a dress?”

“I said you look good in anything.” I paused before adding, “That said, I must confess, there’s something about a dress that seems to always get my attention.”

“What, you’d pay more attention if I wore one all the time?” Emma sounded justifiably annoyed.

“No, I’ll always pay attention to you, Em. That you can be sure of. No, just whenever I see a girl on the street or wherever I have to stop myself from looking.”

“I’m starting to get a little disturbed…”

“Maybe just a habit from my days when I was useless around girls.”

“You’re still useless around girls. What about those two at the markets?”

“You should have known me before I met you.” I put my arms around Emma and kissed her. “Actually, no, you probably wouldn’t have wanted to know me back then. You would have thought I was too weird.”

“You are weird, Francis.” Emma returned the kiss. “But I love you very much.”

“I love you too, Emma.”

“You’re a good man. Don’t you ever forget it.”

THE END.